


My Blood Alone Remains

by childofsurprise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Canonical Rape/Non-con, Dubious Consent, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mental Health Issues, Multi, POV Daenerys Targaryen, Pregnancy, Public Humiliation, Sexual Experimentation, Slow Burn, Violence, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24125995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childofsurprise/pseuds/childofsurprise
Summary: Newly married to a rich industrialist, Daenerys finds herself confined to the house and starved of companionship. Forced to spend her days in endless tedium, when her husband is called away to one of his collieries she begins a passionate and fiery relationship with a young groom from the estate, Jon Snow.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Khal Drogo/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 78
Kudos: 132





	1. A Wedding

Daenerys turned her head to survey the church and its guests, her veil prohibiting her sight. To her side, her brother, Viserys stood, stiff-lipped, and their host for the last few months, Illyrio Mopatis. Upon her new husbands' side, there were his closest friends, Aggo, Jhogo, and Rakharo. Every man sat with a hard expression upon his face, staring blindly towards the front of the church. Daenerys' looked at her new husband. 

He was much taller than she; towering over her, muscular, board. Every aspect of him was her physical opposite; his hair was deep black compared to her blonde, almost white hair. His skin was dark against her whiteness, his eyes black where hers were almost purple in certain lights. 

His eyes slid sideways in their sockets to look at her. A shiver ran down her spine and she faced the front of the church, swallowing. The bouquet of white irises slipped in her grasp due to her sweating palms. She tightened her grip, before they fell, and raised her head. 

“You may now kiss the bride.”

She turned to face him. Drogo. _My husband._ The words echoed hollowing around her brain, like shouting into a chasm. He lifted her veil to expose her face, tucked a hand under her chin, and pressed his lips to hers. They were firm and cold. Before she could respond, he was gone. She pressed her lips together, as if to savour the sensation of her first kiss.

He held out his arm for her. Her hand shook as she linked it within his arm, her hand resting upon his. His skin was coarse. They began to exit the church, for every step he took she had to take three. Drogo did not slow for her so she picked her dress up with her remaining hand and jogged beside him. She could feel Viserys’ disgust and disappointment as her movements and turned beetroot. Viserys leaned over and snatched the bouquet from her flimsy grasp and let it fall upon the ground. The other guest stood upon it and Daenerys fought to keep herself from crying. She’d need her tears for later. 

The carriage ride back to Drogo- _our house_ , she reminded herself - was silent and rough. Daenerys was tossed from side to side as her husband stayed in place, staring at her. She blushed and crawled into a corner to get more stability, looking out upon the landscape. It was all fields of varying colours; green, brown, yellow, wildflowers spread as far as the eye could see. The tip of the rolling hills met the clouds, disappearing away into the air. As they rounded a bend, the sea came into view and Daenerys gasped, leaning forward, a hand pressed against the glass. It was vast, deep blue with white waves lurching upon the surface. She could practically taste the sea air upon her tone; harsh, sharp, salty, comforting. 

The carriage rolled up the driveway to their house. It was a large grey mansion surrounded by a forest and working fields. A barn and stables lay to the back, animals scattered around the grounds. A chill ran through Daenerys as she looked upon it. 

Daenerys stepped down from the carriage, helped by the driver. The servant were all lined up outside the house to welcome their lord and lady home. She smiled at them all but received none back. Drogo exited the carriage, taking her hand in his and pulled her towards the stables. She picked up her skirt and ran alongside him one more. He drew them to a stop outside one of the doors and beckoned one of the stableboys to exit it. 

He came out with a white horse that took Daenerys’ breathe away. Drogo her their hands out forward nd released hers; a gesture for her to approach. She did, running her hand over the mares strong, smooth neck. She was beautiful; grey as the winter sea, with a mane like silver smoke. Daenerys turned to her husband, her eyes shining, her smile wide.

“Thank you.” 

“Stay within the grounds.” Was all he said. 

She nodded, her smile growing as she stroked the horse. The horse snickered and pushed into her hands searching for food. She giggled and held out her empty palm.

“I have nothing to give you.” She whispered. “Silver.” The colour of elegance, sophistication, grace, everything she would need to now be as a wife. The horse shifted and whinnied as though happy with her name. Daenerys stroked Silver’s nose before the stable boy took the reins of the horse and guided it back to the stables. 

Drogo took her hand once more and took her to the gardens where their wedding reception as to be held. There were several marquees filled with food and drink, guests she did not know except through Drogos association were socialising, drinking, dancing. She sat in a smaller marque with Drogo, to accept gifts and speak with her guests.

The majority of presents were for Drogo or the household so when Illyrio Mopatis stepped forward, holding out a wrapped gift for her, her hands shook as she accepted it. She opened the paper to find a painting easel alongside an array of brushes and colours. Her eyes watered slightly and she choked out a thank you. He smiled and went off to join the party. 

“What's that good for?” Viserys sneered, side-eyeing her gift.

“I like painting.” She said quietly. He snorted and ignored her, watching the party happen. Daenerys wondered why he did not join in; drink or find a pretty girl. A few had tried to approach him yet he had shot them away with a sneer. He had also sent the men away with the same attitude, muttering how they were flashing their fortune in his face. Daenerys felt sadness piece her heart and stretch out a hand, brushing it against her brother's shoulder. He jerked away from her, stood and stalked into the crowd. She longed to follow him, to find a quiet spot, to be alone with her thoughts, but knew her duty was by her husbands' side right now. Drogo paid her no mind, merely drank and watched the women dance, his eyes following their hip movements, glittering. 

She watched as two guests began yelling at one another. The fight started soon after; wine spilling onto the grass, incoherent yells and knuckles meeting noses with sickening cracks. They were soon parted and Illyrio’s words echoed in her mind; _a wedding without at least three fights is considered a dull affair._

The air began to grow cold and dark as the day drew to a close. Guests kissed her cheeks and held her hands as they left the grounds. Eventually, it was simply her, Viserys and Drogo left. 

Her husband stalked towards the house. Viserys' hand closed around her arm, his voice low in her ear. 

“Remember our conversation?”

She did. 

_“Let me see.” Viserys pulled off her bathroom so she was naked and slowly circled her, touching her in places, pulling at her skin, or shifting her hair out of his view. He hummed and faced her once more, his fingernails digging into her shoulders. “I need you to be perfect today. Can you do that for me? You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”_

_The dragon as some ridiculous nickname he had given himself yet it comforted him so Daenery said nothing about it. Tears pricked at her eyes._

_“I don’t want to be his wife. I want to go home.” She begged. Viserys sighed and relaxed his grip a fraction._

_“So do I. I want us both to go home.” He admitted and Daenerys moved to wrap her arms around him. He stopped her and leered over her. “But they took it from us. So tell me, sweet sister, how do we go home?”_

_“I don’t know.” She whispered._

_“We go home with power. With Drogo’s men and money. I would let his whole estate fuck you, all the men, women, and their horses too, if that’s what it took.” He shook her slightly and she winced. His hand wrapped around her throat. “So you need to please him in bed, sister. Think you can do that?”_

_She nodded, struggling for air as host hand pressed into her neck. She gripped his forearm with both her hand, attempting to pull him off of her. Yet he was far stronger and so held on, a wild look netting his eye._

_“Do you even know how?” He sneered. She shook her head as best she could. He sighed and his grip relaxed a fraction. She took a deep breath, welcoming the air into her lungs._

_“You must follow his instructions and make sure you look him in the eyes.” His eyes sourced her own, a sadness engulfing them. “Love comes in at the eyes. It is said that Irogenia of Lys could finish a man with nothing but her eyes.”_

_“Finish a man?”_

_He snorted and released her. “You’ll learn little one.” With that, he stalked from the room and left her to her bathe. She had lain under the water, the heat burning her skin, until her lungs near burst._

“Make him happy.” 

With that, Viserys released her and walked off into the grounds. Daenerys longed to follow him yet picked up her skirts and followed her husband to their bedroom. The interior was all a deep brown, with fires roaring in almost every room. The heat clung to her as she climbed the staircase. She marvelled as she walked; space, the high ceilings, the windows which streamed light inwards. It was all she ever wanted; a home, light, space, knowing she had food and shelter and warmth. Yet her heart was still pricked with ice. Drogo was not the man to melt it, she knew. Maybe she would find him. One day. She sighed and opened the door to her new bedroom. 

Drogo sat in the corner, upon the window seat, gazing out at the garden, a full wine glass in his hand. At her entrance, he turned and toasted her. She stood, holding her dress. He swallowed the wine in one smooth motion. She watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed as he did. He bared his teeth at her.

“Strip.”

She did. Her hands trembled as she undid her buttons and lifted the many layers of her dress over her head. He never took his eyes off her. Upon reaching her undergarments, she paused, swallowing. Then she let it tumble to the floor.

The cold evening air hit her skin with a rush; goosebumps spread and her nipples hardened. She stood still, watching as he watched her. He stood, like a cat preparing to pounce. Her knees trembled and she pressed them together.

“Face the wall.”

She turned slowly, looking at the plain white wall. She heard him rustling, his belt unbuckling. Her body tensed. More fumbling and then a gasp and the sound of flesh on flesh. She waited. More gasping. She began to turn-

“FACE THE WALL.”

She snapped back to the wall, squeezing her eyes together. His gasps were deep and picking up speed, the sound of flesh on flesh was in her ears. She heard a growl and a deep cry. Then heavy breathing. She dared not turn. The sound of a candle blowing out, the bedsprings creaking, and then silence. She stood, straining her ears to hear anything but the sound of Drogos breath. Nothing. She swallowed, balled her hands into fists, and turned.

He lay in bed, on his side, turned away from her. Her side of the bed remained untouched, her candle on her side lit. 

She stood, waiting for him to ask her to join him in their marital bed.

After what seemed like an age to her, she crept to her side and slid between the sheets, making herself as small and as far away from him as possible. She blew out her candle and lay awake in the darkroom, the tears she had saved from earlier trickling down her cheeks, soaking her pillow. 


	2. Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the warm welcome this story has received! each hit, kudos and comment means the world to me and they keep me motivated ❤️
> 
> CW: dubious / non- consent - If you would like to skip over these two mentions, the opening sentence of the first one is:  
>  _“Take your undergarments off and lie down.” He ordered his voice low. “Time for inspection.”  
> _  
>  The ending sentence of the paragraph is:  
>  _She stood and pulled her clothes back on._  
>   
>   
>  The opening sentence of the second one is:  
>  _She could feel Drogo’s body heat against hers  
> _  
>  The ending sentence of the paragraph is:  
>  _She could feel Drogo shifting beneath her, moving her to the chair by herself as he said farewell to their guests._
> 
>   
>  Stay safe and I hope you enjoy chapter two!

The days following her wedding were filled with organising the house. Drogo left it to her to do so whilst he went to work, giving her unfiltered access to his money. She added as much colour as she could; a yellow kitchen, green wallpaper to the library, blue upholstery to the sitting room. Viserys sulked about the house, critiquing her wherever she went. She tried to share the process with him and even sent one of the servants, Missandei, to him to ask his opinion about shades of pink but he had dragged her back by her hair. 

“You send this girl to give me commands?” He snarled, throwing the girl at Daenerys' feet. Daenerys dropped her samples and bent down to help the girl to her feet. She was shaking and had tears in her eyes. Daenerys held her hand in her own. 

“Forgive me, my lady. I did as you asked.” She whispered. Daenerys brushed her springy hair behind her ears.

“Hush now. It's all right. Irri,” she turned to another serving girl in the room. "take her and leave us.”

Irri curtsied. “Yes, my lady.” She took Missandei’s hand in her own and lead them both from the room, leaving the Targaryens alone. 

“Why did you hit her?” Daenerys rounded on her brother as soon as the door clicked shut. 

“How many times do I have to tell you? You do not command me.” He spat. 

“I wasn't commanding you. I just wanted to invite you to share your thoughts on our home.”

“Our home?” He laughed, humourlessly. “We only live here because Drogo permits it and you won’t even spread your legs for him. Don’t expect it to be our home for much longer.”

She was unable to stop the blush from reading across her face. Viserys stalked over to her, sneering. She swallowed and stood her ground. Quick as a flash, he raised his hand and slapped her across her face. Her head swung round with a crash and her vision blurred. She shook her head and Viserys came swimming back into view. He sneered over her.

“Take your undergarments off and lie down.” He ordered his voice low. “Time for inspection.”

Daenerys hated these. But to disobey meant a beating and she did not want her new household to listen to her cries, seeing as she was now their lady. With shaking hands she slid her hosen and undergarments off and lie upon the wooden floor, staring at the ceiling. She felt Viserys lift her skirts and looked at her cunt. His fingers brushed her entrance and she flinched. He sighed and threw her skirts back over her, storming around the room. She stood and pulled her clothes back on. He seized her shoulders, fingernails digging in. She tried to push him off yet he shoved her against the wall, his knee digging into her stomach. She heaved slightly as he drove it in. 

“You little puritan. This is not the time to be miss goody two shoes and protect your innocence. I need Drogo to impregnate you so I can use this to my advantage.”

“He won’t lie with me.” She pleaded. He pulled her forward and slammed her back to her head hit the wall. Tears pricked her eyes. 

“That’s your fault, you piece of filth. Tonight you had better strip off and climb on top of him. Or let him masturbate into your hand and you push it inside of yourself for all I care. Get a baby inside of you. And I’ll know if you haven’t.” He growled, his voice low. It sent chills down Daenerys’ spine. She nodded, clutching at her clothing and looking away. Viserys’ fingers brushed her cheek. “I only do this so we may go back to our ancestral home.” He whispered. “With your swollen belly and Drogo’s men and power, we can easily take it back from those Baratheon bastards. But only with them, do you understand?” 

She nodded again. His lips curled into a cruel smile, his hand tucked under her chin and he kissed her forehead. It was delicate and full of affection, which was a near stranger to her. Daenerys felt tears prick her eyes and she sniffed. Viserys wiped her tears away with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Can you do this for me, little one?” 

“I can.”

He smiled and looked at the samples upon the table. He gestured to the pale yellow and left the room without a backward glance.

She let out a breath she’d been holding and leaned against the table, sweat breaking over her forehead. Was there a way she could break her hymen even with Drogo refusing to touch her? She was certain he would simply bat her to one side if she made a move towards him as Viserys had instructed. Maybe she could make herself look beautiful tonight and he would want her. She wiped her face and vowed to do just that. 

Calling for her maids, they cleared the room as she headed outside to her only solace in this household; the paints Illyro had given her.

Each afternoon, after lunch, she would sit in the garden with her paints and watch the world go by; nature and animals growing, playing, evolving, and paint what she saw. Thus far, she had painted a swallow in the tall grass, attempting to mimic it's playful swopping and fragility. Today she worked upon the sky; the brilliant blue, the soft clouds, the sun's rays hitting the bird, and the grass. Her forehead crinkled in concentration and her tongue licking her lips as she traced the shadows in a light grey. Nothing existed for her in these moments but the brush, the paint, the air, and it was heaven. Yet heaven never exists alone.

Cohollo, one of Drogo’s manservants, marched into the garden to where she sat and laid a hand upon her shoulder. She jumped and he smiled. 

“You need to come inside, my lady. Your husband has returned with his men and they wish to be entertained and served.”

She swallowed and nodded. She packed her paints away, her heart growing heavier with each passing second. She tucked them away in the entrance of the house, smoothed down her dress and entered the sitting room, arranging a smile upon her face.   
There they all sat; Jhaqo, Pono, Forzho, Moro, Qorro, Rhalko, Savo, and Drogo. Raucously laughing and sipping whiskey. Daenerys went and stood by her husband. He grinned up at her and pulled her into his lap. He pressed his lips to hers- hard and closed - to jeers and whoops. She blushed, which only made them cheer louder. 

As they drank and discussed work, she felt herself disassociating. Everything looks the same but it feels different. Empty and far away. She felt like she was watching them all from underwater. She accepted the drinks they offered, the cake they gave her, she felt as if her body and her mind were two separate entities. Her body was moving, smiling, laughing with no emotional connection to her mind. 

She could feel Drogo’s body heat against hers, feel his arm around her waist, his hand heavy on her hip. It dug in whenever she failed to react fast enough for his liking. She felt light-headed and drowsy like she could float away if he was not holding her. She felt the men press their lips to hers, their hands grope at her body; nothing Viserys had not done before. She could feel Drogo shifting beneath her, moving her to the chair by herself as he said farewell to their guests. 

She turned her head to the window, feeling like she was awaking from a long nap. Her head pounded, her throat was dry. The sky was black outside and she could not see any stars. Tears pricked at her eyes and she sniffed, pressing her sleeve against her face, staining it with liquid. She saw a figure of a man crossing the fields, his dark hair glowed in the moonlight, he walked with a purpose, tall, strong. She felt her heart skip a beat. Daenerys looked down at her glass of whiskey, not knowing how many she had had. She raised it to her lips and swallowed. It burned the back fo her mouth and she shuddered.

“Bed.” Drogo’s voice penetrated her reverie. She stood, swaying slightly and made her way upstairs, clinging to the bannister and tripping over the steps. Drogo scowled and huffed all the while. 

Once she had reached her room, she pulled her clothes off as he watched and stood in front of him. He watched as ever, not moving. She sighed and lay down on their bed, her head lolling over the side as she had missed her pillow.

“Don’t you want me?” Her voice was small and high pitched. She hated it.

“You’re drunk.” He shoved her over to her side. She whined and pushed her face into her pillow, felling the itchy fabric again there bare skin. She turned to him, ready to climb on top as Viserys had told her. But Drogo had his back turned. She stretched out, to turn him over, to touch him, but the moment her hand met his side, he turned and grabbed a fistful of her hair. She cried out but he tightened his grip.

“You don’t touch me unless I say so.” 

She nodded, tears flowing. He released her and turned back over. Her body trembled with the knowledge Viserys was going to beat her tomorrow. She lay awake, shaking and crying, trying to be as quiet as possible least her husband lay a hand on her again. When she did finally fall into a slumber, the man from the moonlight walk came to her dreams. 

He smiled and held her and she felt safe within his arms. 


	3. Exploration

Breakfast was a menial affair. Drogo sat the head of the table with Daenerys and Viserys on either side, picking at their eggs and toast. Each bite she took was dry and scratched at her throat, no matter how much water she swallowed. 

After a moment, Drogo cleared his throat. Daenerys dropped her cutlery upon her plate with a clatter, earning her disapproving looks from her husband and brother and a swift kick on her shin from one of them. She fought to keep her grimace off her face and sat a little taller. 

“We’re leaving for twenty-four hours.” Drogo gestured to Viserys who smirked. Daenerys gave no response yet her heart jumped in her chest. “You are to remain here.” 

She nodded and ducked her head to hide her smile, hastily putting food in her mouth. 

Daenerys fought to keep the spring from her step, her smile on her lips, her breath steady until they had left. She watched stonily as they climbed into the carriage and drove away. As soon as the main gates had swung shut behind the carriage did she allow her shoulders to drop, her face to relax and her smile to spread. She picked up her skirts and walked into the house. 

“Can I get you anything my lady?” Issi said. 

“Please could you put the blackberries into a bowl for me and bring it outside? Along with a jug of lemon juice and a glass.” 

Issi smiled and nodded. She curtsied and made towards the kitchen as Daenerys headed to the garden. She retrieved her paints from the storage spot and set them up as the servants Brough out a little table for her fruit and drink. They set up her parasol shading her from the sun rays. She thanked them and an idea blossomed.

“Can you bring some of the long tables out, many blankets, and various foods that won’t spoil in the heat?”

Once they had carried out her instructions they paused, awaiting her next instruction. She smiled. 

“Help yourselves. Eat, sit, enjoy the sun.”

“My Lady, Lord Dr-”

She held up a hand, stopping Jhogo. He was one of her husbands closest but she knew he hated his wrath as the rest of them did. 

“He’s not here.” Her eyes glinted in the sunlight and a stir rippled through the servants. “I will ensure you’re not reprimanded.” She promised. “If anybody asks, say I told you to serve me from here. Spread the word to the rest of the household.”

As she began to work upon her swallow scene, the word spread like wildfire, and before long it seemed the entire household was sat outside, nibbling on fruit and laughing. A makeshift game of croquet had begun and Daenerys smiled as heard peals of laughter from the field. Upon glancing up to get another angle of the trees she saw the man from the moonlight walk. He was a little shorter than she remembered and was scowling as he watched the scene. The wind whipped at his black locks and he shook his head. He locked eyes with her and a thrill ran through her. His scowl deepened and he stalked away towards the stables. 

She felt her breath hitch in her throat and heat rise her neck. She clasped her glass of juice and downed it before pouring another and downing that also. Her wedding ring glinted on her hand in the sunlight and stilled her rising panic. _I am married._ She sighed and returned to her painting, the glow of the day waning. 

Her hands were sweating, no matter how much she wiped them on her dress. Her neck ached with the weight of her hair. With one hand, she twisted her hair into a bun and held it whilst her other dabbed at the page with her brush. This relieved her for some time before her arm began to shake with the effort. She allowed her hair to fall, heat engulfing her once again. She kicked off her shoes, sweat pooling at her feet. She signed and wiped her brushes against the rag.

She packed her painting equipment away, leaving the painting itself out to dry. Then she shifted her parasol to the grass along with her blanket and jug of lemon juice and lay there, basking in the shade a gentle breeze playing across her skin. She sighed, closing her eyes and letting her conscious self slip away into dreams. 

She dreamt of Viserys hitting her, his fist meeting her jaw with devastating pain and drawing back covered in blood; her blood. She turned her head and saw herself painting a dragon upon a canvas, hatching from an egg, and coughing out blood and smoke. She looked down and saw her body was slick with blood and roared at Viserys, fire spewing from her mouth.

She awoke with a jerk, gasping for air. Daenerys rubbed her eyes with her fists and looked around; the sun had begun to fade, the heat dispersing into the atmosphere, the servants began to wander inside, to prepare dinner, to rest, to sneak away together. She looked about the garden; it was mostly empty with the odd servant picking up and cleaning up after the days' relaxation. Daenerys stretched and heard her neck crack. The sound of raucous laughter was coming from the stables with the odd unintelligible jeer. She stood, brushed herself down, and headed towards the noise. 

The noise became louder and more clear as she approached. The male voices seemingly cheering each other on and one cutting across, trying to stop them. Her feet picked up the pace, her hands lifting her skirt to make to easier to move. 

She entered the stables and her jaw dropped. Men were standing in a circle with a weighing bag in the middle. The weighing bag held a woman who was asking to be let down. The men were shouting and cheering as they pushed the woman in the bag from side to side and in circles. One of the men - Daenerys felt her stomach somersault as she saw it was the man from the moonlit field - was protesting and arguing with some of the others. She cleared her throat. Nothing.

“Excuse me,” she began. Nothing. She scowled and straightened. “HEY!”

Every eye turned to her. She held her chin up and took a step into the barn. Nobody moved.

“Who is in there?” She gestured to the bag.

“A pig.” One of the men quipped, slapping the bag. The woman inside squealed. A ripple of laughter echoed around the room. Daenerys fought to keep herself from blushing.

“Take her down.” She ordered. Nobody moved. “Take her down now. I am your lady and you must do as I say.” Nothing. 

“Take her down.” The man from the moonlight interjected. Daenerys felt her mouth dry but shook his help aside. 

She clenched her jaw, pulling out her ace. "Or my husband shall hear of this and he may not be as forgiving as I am.”

The threat of Drogos' fury swung them into action. They untied the rope and guided the woman in the bag down gently, holding her so she could find her feet. They unwrapped the bag to reveal Missandei. She had tears streaking down her face. Not looking at Daenerys, Missandei picked up her skirts and ran from the barn. The laughter ran about the room once more. Daenerys straightened. 

“Face the wall. All of you. Two feet apart from your fellow man. Now.”

They did, accompanied by some snorts and mutters. Daenerys took in the sight of them; facing the wall, obeying her, at her mercy. A flame flickered awake within her. Tension melted away and she began to walk slow, deliberate strides. Close to some, far from others. She liked watching how they tensed as she approached and sighed when she left them be. Her head felt light and her body stirred. They were all hers. _Is this how Drogo feels?_ She wondered. _When he orders me to face the wall and do his bidding?_ If so, she could understand it now. Giddiness threatened to overcome her and she placed a hand on the wall to steady herself. 

The man from the moonlight, from her dreams turned his head a fraction to glance at her. She met his eyes and felt a thrill run through her. His ears turned red and he faced the wall once more. She straightened. 

“If I catch you doing anything of the sort again, I will tell my husband.” 

A gentle tremble rippled through the men. A smirk crept over her features. Then ice pierced her; her chest tightened, her throat closed up, bile rose. She fled from the stables and round the back, as the sick bubbled from her mouth, spilling into the grass. Her hands shook as she pulled her hair back and she gagged. Her knees trembled and she fought to remain standing. The feeling of control had fled from her veins. Tears burned her cheeks as they flowed from her eyes. 

She felt a hand touch her back and shrank away from it. The face of Missandei swam into view and Daenerys let out a noise between a sob and a sigh. Missandei gathered Daenerys hair in her hands and rubbed her back until no further vomit came to form her mouth. Once she stood, Missandei wiped her mouth with her sleeves and they held hands as they walked back to the house.

“Thank you, my lady. For earlier.”

“You’re welcome. If they start anything like that again, let me know.”

Missandei nodded, relaxing into their embrace. Daenerys smiled and squeezed her hand.

“Thank you for looking after me. Just then.” 

Missandei smiled. They walked in companionable silence. Her hand was soft and gentle in her own; Daenerys had never held hands with someone other than brief moments. Of welcome and help. She found herself rubbing soft circles upon Missandei’s skin, which was reciprocated. As they crossed the house’ threshold, Missandei slipped her hand from hers and curtsied. Daenerys stopped her as she made to leave. 

“Who was that man?” 

Missandei made a confused face. “Which man, my lady?”

The one who tried to help you. And me. The one who didn’t join in.”

“His name is Jon Snow, my lady.” 

Jon Snow.

Daenerys rolled the name around her brain throughout dinner. Only once she was alone in her marital bed did she dare to whisper it to herself. 

“Jon Snow.”

Her stomach flipped, her heart pounded. She said his name again and her body clenched. A fire was building, one she wasn’t sure how to put out. Her hands cupped her breasts, offering a fraction of relief. She twisted her nipples experimentally, pleasure shooting through her.

“Jon Snow.”

She recalled his kind eyes, the way he’d tried to help, his hair which looked so soft and thick, as she slid her hand under the nightgown. Her fingers found her entrance and she sighed as wetness covered her fingertips. Her body shook as she brushed against there entrance to the tip. Her legs spasmed as she touched the very top. She scowled slightly, curiosity firing up, and pressed it. Pleasure shot through her, her body arching. Her breath quickened and she began to run against it; up and down, side to side, round and round, enjoying each one as her body tensed and shivered. She moaned and then bit her pillow so as not to be heard by the household. Her thought swam of Jon and her stomach clenched again. Her hand drifted lower, slipping a finger inside her cunt. It was warm and wet and welcomed another. Her other hand rubbed at the top as her finger moved in and out. She rocked against her hand, enjoyment coursing through her veins. She could laugh is she wasn’t so tense with pleasure. Her hand movements became faster and she began to whisper his name, almost as a chant. 

“Jon Snow Jon SnowJon SnowJon SnowJon SnowJon SnowJon SnowJon Snow.”

Her body was tense, it felt like she needed to pee. An unknown pressure building within her. Her breath was stopping, her body convulsing, her hand beginning to cramp with the effort of her movements. Just when she thought she wouldn’t be able to continue, pure pleasure consumed her. Her mind went blank, her movements ceased as she bathed in the glow. Jon Snow’s face swam in her mind's eye and she cried out, trembling. 

Before long, her body became her own again. She gasped and giggled into her pillow, like a child with a delicious secret. Her hand went to her cunt again to repeat the process, Jon Snow’s name dancing across her lips. 


	4. The Horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you being patient with this update; I took a break due to what has been happening these past few weeks. [Here are some ways you can help](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#)  
> I cannot thank all of you enough for the overwhelming support this story has gotten so far! It means the world to me. Thank you ❤️ I'd love to know your thoughts on this latest chapter!

When her husband and brother returned from their business, they were both surprised to see a smile dancing upon Daenerys lips. Their surprise grew and glances were made at one another as she swished her skirts with her hand as she turned to enter the house ahead of them. When she jumped from the final step of the staircase, it turned to concern. The final straw was seeing how the servants reacted to her; smiling, curtsying, pressing little gifts of food into her hand (which she promptly shared with them), or asking how she was. 

Casting a look upon his brother-in-law, Drogo headed to his office leaving Viserys to curl a hand about his sister's arm and pull her into the nearest empty room. She pulled herself out of his grip, to his chagrin, raising a blonde eyebrow.

“I would’ve followed if you’d simply asked, brother.”

“You- you-” he spluttered. She stood, hands crossed in front of her, awaiting him to regain speech. His eyes narrowed to slits and he jabbed a finger at her. “What did you do when we were away?”

“Painted, walked about the grounds, spoke to the servants, the usual.” She shrugged. “Is that all?”

“I-”

“Because,” she continued, ignoring his splutter. “I’m losing the morning sunshine which I need to finish my shadow work on my latest piece.”

Viserys, failing to procure the words he needed in front of her frustrating, calm demeanour, waved a hand dismissively at her and stormed from the room, deliberately shoving his should into hers as he passed. She made no noise but waited until he had closed the door behind him before she allowed her self a smile. 

With a skip, she made her way to the garden, picking up her painting equipment as she did, and settled down for the morning. She hummed tunelessly to herself as her brush swept across the canvas, turning it a luminous purple. Despite the sunlight, the air had a slight chill and she tugged her shawl tighter around her body as she worked. She delicately shaded the horses' shadow within the field of daffodils, her brow scrunching slightly as she worked. 

Concentrated as she was, she failed to notice the shadow fall across her path until it spoke with her husband's voice.

“Walk with me.” 

She jumped, upending her muddy colourful water onto her skirt. Her brush, folding the colour black, swiped across her painting, erasing the daffodils and her horse's head. A prickling came behind her eyes, a thorny know in her throat. She swallowed and set her brush down. _It’s salvageable, don’t cry, you must not cry, you can re-paint it tomorrow._

She stood, acutely aware of the wetness of her skirt, her shawl flung over her shoulders, her hair swept back from her face with no grandeur. She felt heat rising on her face and dropped her eyes. Drogo’s eyebrow quirked but he held out his arm nonetheless. Daenerys let her shawl fall to her chair and tucked her hand around his elbow. 

They walked without noise; he was slow with his strides, allowing her to keep apace with him without hurrying. As their feet passed from stone to earth, they slowed once more, allowing Daenerys to adjust to the terrain as her shoes were made for the inside, not walking. Despite the slowness of their pace, her heart hammered against her ribcage. 

“Do you like the outside?”

She peered up at her husband, a stranger to her still. “Yes.” 

“Is that why you paint always out here?”

“I find the world outside offers more inspiration than the inside.” 

He sniffed and they fell into silence once more, yet it was softer this time. She could feel his heat against her hand, his bicep solid beneath the fabric of his suit. Whilst they’d never have romance, maybe they could fall into something resembling allies. _It is a mutually beneficial marriage after all. Somewhat._

Daenerys squared her shoulders and made a stab at conversation.

“How was our trip?”

“Busy.”

“Did you have… a nice time with Viserys?”

“Your brother talks too much.”

A giggle rose to her lips and she saw Drogo glance at her, amusement flickering across his otherwise stoic features. A tiny flame flickered within her. She leaned into it.

“What is it you actually _do_?”

“I’m an industrialist.”

“Yes… but what is that?” 

“I own a company that specialises in iron and steel and we sell it to transport companies.”

“For trains?”

“Correct.”

“That’s,” _Don’t say boring, don’t say boring_. “Interesting. Do you like painting?”

“No.”

“What do you like?”

“I like my business.” 

They fell into an impassive silence. As they approached the fountain with a statue in the centre, depicting a pair of stallions on their hind legs, their hooves meeting in the air to form an arch, Drogo shifted their point of contact so he held his hand in her own. He helped her sit upon the edge of the fountains outside stone, yet did not move to join her. Her breath hitched in her throat.

“Yesterday, you allowed servants to relax within the gardens.” 

His dark eyes bore into hers. She felt heat rising yet held on to their eye contact. 

“Then you reprimanded the stable men whilst they were doing their duties.” 

“They weren’t doi-”

“Silence.” 

_Don’t cry, don’t cry. You are Daenerys Targaryen and lady of this household and you will not cry._

Drogo loomed over her, his shadow engulfing her, hiding her from the sun's warmth. She tucked into herself deeper. Her secret burned like a delicious fire on a cold winters day. She wound it about herself like fine armour; impenetrable, strong, protective. She jutted her chin out. Drogo’s eye glinted as he leaned further in, like a cat about to pounce.

“Your actions,” he snarled. “Your behaviour reflects me as your husband. As your husband, I forbid you from damaging my reputation and associating with the servants or disciplining them without my input. From now on, you are to stay either inside or on the patio with your paints. You may go to the stables to ride your horse but not utter a single word to the men aside from 'thank you'. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Get out of my sight.”

Daenerys scrambled from the edge of the fountain, her eyes burning with hot tears she would not allow him to see, her feet carrying her from the site. How stupid, how naive she had been. To expect her husband not to hear of her behaviour. _Who spoke? Who complained? Who dislikes me so much that when I try to be kind flings it back in my face?_ Questions whirled as she blindly ran from where her husband stood by the still clear water. Her tears flowed down her cheeks, her tongue felt too large for her mouth, her chest tightening so her breaths came in short, sharp bursts. 

_Why me? Why is this happening to me? Why must I walk this path when others are so much easier? Why have I been cursed with this one? What did I do to deserve this?_

So focused was she upon the questions battering in her brain, she missed the figure standing in her path and barrelled straight into them. _Him. Jon_ _Snow._

The scent of hay, dirt, and tulips entered her nose as she felt two arms wound about her person, shielding her from the earth as they tumbled towards it. Whilst her impact was somewhat soft, his was not. He yelled as they hit the floor, a deep, bellowing sound. Daenerys scrambled off of him, hastily dragging her hand across her cheeks to remove her tears. The man, who she now knew as Jon Snow, stood, wincing and softly groaning. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You alright, my lady?”

“Thank you.” 

His brown eyes were soft and seeking hers. She looked into them, feeling the weight of his hand upon her shoulder, the heat radiating from his body, remembering her own as it curled with pleasure at the sound of his name on her lips. She flushed and pulled away from him. He looked abashed and let his arm fall to his side, looking away and clearing his throat.

“I’m going to the stables.” She announced. “I want to go for a ride.” _I’ve broken his rules of only saying thank you._ Her heart clenched in there chest. Jon Snow turned back to her, a soft smile at his lips. 

“Do you know how to prepare your horse, my lady?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to show you?”

“Please."

He fell into step alongside her as they made their way to the stables. A comfortable silence lay between them. Daenerys found herself edging closer to his side as they walked. She fought to keep herself on a straight parallel line yet her arm brushed up against his. He made no move away from her but neither did he brush his arm back to hers. She thought he smiled briefly at their moment on contact yet it was gone as quickly as a candle turns to a puff of smoke with one breath. 

He held the stable door open for her and offered his hand to help her cross from the round onto the hay. As she slid her hand into his, a trembler ran through her veins, as though she’d been struck by lightning. From his sharp inhale, she knew he’d felt it as well. She snatched her hand away and clutched her skirts instead, lifting them to her ankles so she did not stain the hem from the dirt within the stable. 

Silver nickered when she saw her and plodded over. Daenerys held her hand out for Silver to sniff and rub against. When the mare realised she made no food, she huffed. 

“Sorry girl,” Daenerys whispered, stroking her neck. “Next time, I promise.” 

“You know what to do first?” He sounded flustered, his voice cracking. She smiled. “My lady.” He added hastily. She looked about the stables, spotting the brushes upon the wall.

“Brush her?”

“She’s already brushed, but yes. You use that one, the curry comb, to make sure all the dirt is loose from her coat. Then again with the soft brush. Next, brush her mane and tail. Then we use the hoof pick to remove any dirt.” as he spoke of each instrument, he pointed to it at the wall. “Would you like to change whilst I get her into her saddle and bridle, my lady?”

“No.” 

“Right. At least wear your helmet.”

“I shall.”

His bossy, untitled speech amused her. He seemed to catch himself for he added a ‘my lady’ to the end. He picked up Silver’s saddle from its stand and crossed to where Daenerys stood stroking her. He held it out to her. She took it in her arms, adjusting to the weight and size awkwardly before placing it upon the mares back. 

“Make sure it’s forward enough,” he guided. “Look at the straps and make sure they are right behind the front legs of the horse.”

She did and tugged it forward so the straps fell where he stated. 

“Now put the girth through the loop and fasten them with the straps.”

At her blank expression, Jon stepped forward, paling his hand over hers. The current jolted through her once more, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird within her. His hands shook against her but he guided them to the girth, gripping it under and around the horse, fastening it upon the other side. Silver inhaled, in protest. Jon chuckled as she did.

“Go and scratch behind her ears. She’ll relax then. My lady. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s nice.” Her confession turned her cheeks red as she slid away from him to Silver's head. She stroked and scratched as he had advised until the mare had relaxed and allowed Jon to tightened the saddle to the measurements. 

“Stand to the left of her head, towards me slightly, yes, okay, hold her nose down with your right hand, here.” He handed her the reins. Her left hand gripped them. He smiled encouragingly. “Put the bit in her mouth, careful, watch your fingers, okay, good. Now put the crown over her ears, over, yes, don’t be afraid to guide her ears out. Good. Fasten the throat latch. You should be able to put a fist in between the throat latch and her. Good, my lady. Now, fasten the noseband underneath the bit… you should be able to put two fingers in between the noseband and the horse. You have such small hands.” His ears turned red after he said this final sentence. Daenerys surveyed her hands. _They are small, I suppose… Smaller than his. I wonder- S_ he shut her thought down before she turned into a puddle before him. Her knees were already shaking and she was thankful for Silver between them so he wouldn’t see. 

“You’re ready to go on your ride now, my lady.” 

“Would you like to come with me?”

“I’m not allowed to go on a horse, my lady.”

“No but… I'm not the best rider so I may need someone to walk alongside me and catch if I fall.”

He hesitated, his eyes flittering between her and the door outside, where the house lay in the distance. He made to take a step towards the door and then turned back to her, his eye sweeping over her. She held her breath, her knuckles turning white against the reins. After a beat, he smiled, his eyes lighting up, his back straightening.

“You may. Let’s go, my lady.” 


	5. Petunias

Jon kept a distance from her, at the gently stroking silver but making sure he did not touch her. She fought the urge to ‘accidentally’ shift her leg so he would. They exited the stables and headed to the woods; a winding path trodden throughout the years, the grass mingled with bluebells. The sun shone through the leaves, casting golden hue across everything. Insects hummed, breaking the silence as small mammals scrambled about the tress and ground. 

Everything in her life felt calmer when she was here, smaller, less significant. She wasn’t Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the last surviving female of the Targaryen house, nor Lady of the House, she was simply a woman riding in the woods, surrounded by nature. Tension rolled off her like waves from a rock. Her mouth curved into a smile, she sped up to a trot. She glanced over her shoulder to Jon.

“Go.” He smiled. “I’ll follow on.”

She returned his smile and then softly kicked Silver into a canter, her knees pressed into the horse to offer her support and she rolled her body in time with the mares movements. She occasionally leaned out of the way of a hanging branch, the wind whipping at her hair. For a few glorious moments, nothing existed but the feel of the horse under her, the air dancing across her skin, her breath, her heartbeat within her ears. 

Silver slowed as they reached where the trees thinned, fading into a meadow. The meadow was small, perfectly round, and filled with wildflowers — violet, yellow, and soft white. Nearby, she could hear the bubbling music of a stream. The sun was directly overhead, filling the circle with a haze of buttery sunshine. She slid off Silvers back, stroking the mare before walking through the soft grass, swaying flowers, and warm, gilded air. She turned, to face Jon, to share this with him, yet he was not behind her. She spun her head to find him and spotted him under a tree a little to her left. His eyes were wary, reluctant. She smiled encouragingly and beckoned to him with her hand, taking another step back to him.

He made a face between and smiled grimace and walked towards her. Together they made their way to the centre of the meadow and sat down. Daenerys picked at the grass, threading it between her fingers. 

“You won’t get into trouble? Being here I mean?” She bit her lip. Jon smiled.

“I shouldn’t, no, my lady.”

“You don’t have to call me that.”

“What would you prefer?”

“Daenerys.”

“Okay,  _ Daenerys.”  _ Her name sounded like music on his lips. Her stomach flipped and she looked away from him. “Call me Jon.”

“How did you end up working here, Jon?”

“I wasn’t given much choice but I decided to come here rather than stay at my home.”

“Why?”

“My step-mother and I don’t get along.” His features grew dark. She hastened to change the subject. 

“Do you have siblings?”

“I have five, two sisters and three brothers. Do you only have your brother?”

“I had another brother, but he died during…” 

“I heard what happened to your family and your land.” He said, gently. He stretched out a hand and rested it upon hers. “I’m sorry.”

She shook him off, her eyes stinging, turning away. “When I’ve grown, we will take back what was stolen from me and destroy those who have wronged me.”  _ If I look back, I am lost.  _

She heard his inhale and faced him, her eyes glowing in the sunlight, her face full of determination. He surveyed her and then headed down a different path. 

“Do you like being here?”

“Sometimes.” She admitted. “You?”

“Sometimes.”

A comfortable silence fell between them. Daenerys continued fiddling with the grass beneath her as Jon sat, staring at the sky. Inch by inch, she stretched out her legs until they were straight, brushing against his knee, sending a shock through her system. Jon jolted as they made contact but did not move. Instead, he leaned into her touch. Carefully, his hand came to rest on her leg, a stay warm weight on her calf. She smiled and leaned back onto the grass, staring at the blue sky. Bird flittered across her vision, playing across the sky. 

“What’s your favourite colour?” She asked.

“Black.”

She scrunched up her nose heard him laugh. 

“Don’t like black?”

“It’s a bit… morose.”

“What's yours?”

“Purple.”

“Royalty and sexual repression. Nice.”

She sat up and hit his arm. He laughed.

“Better than black! Death, evil, aggression-”

“Mystery, strength, authority, elegance.” He interrupted. “Not that I'm any of them.”

“You’re strong and elegant and…” She spoke before her brain caught up with her mouth. She blushed and looked at the woods. “Besides,” she attempted a nonchalant tone which came out higher than her natural voice. “Purple  _ also  _ means creativity, wisdom, dignity, peace, independence, and magic.” 

“I take back my previous comment, my lady.”

“I said  _ not  _ to call me that!” She stretched out to playfully hit him once more but he caught her hand in his own. Her hand looked so pale, small, and delicate in his. He entwined their fingers and she followed suit, enjoying the warmth spreading over her body, the ache growing in the apex of her thighs. She watched as a steady blush grew over his neck and face and his chest heaved. He looked at her, his eyes dark.

“Why did you marry him? He’s…” he trailed off but she knew the ending. She swallowed, a lump developing.

“I need his name and wealth to claim my family lands back and he wanted a wife. Viola.” 

“Do you love him?”

“I’ve never been in love. Have you?”

“Once.” He admitted, his eyes cast downwards. “She died. Several years back.”

A fire erupted within her. She pulled her hand back and laid back down on the grass, away from him. She shut her eyes, forcing her tears back inside. Her teeth sank into her tongue, preventing her building scream. Her body felt aquiver, the merest moment could lead her to cry or lash out.  _ Is this what jealousy is? Is this what the poets speak of?  _ It was odd, in a way. She'd assumed her husband had had others in his bed before her. Perhaps he had even loved a few. Yet this knowledge left her feeling bland, uncaring. The mere notion of Jon looking at another woman, let alone loving them, set her soul ablaze.

_ I am forever a step behind.  _

She sat up, her hand stretching out to curl around the front of his shirt. He made to protest, to move away yet she pulled him in and pressed her lips to his. He paused for a second and then melted into the kiss. His mouth was warm and wet, tasting of porridge. The scene of petunias filled her nose as she breathed him in. She felt his hands wound in her hand as they tilted their heads. Their teeth bashed together, making them giggle. 

Jon shuffled closer to her, one hand curved around the back of her neck, the other stroking her hair, tilting her head back as his teeth sank into her bottom lip. She shuddered, her hands laying flat on his chest, the other tangled in his hair. It was just like she’d imagined; textured silk. 

_ This. This is what the poets speak of.  _

She opened her mouth, her stomach flipping as his tongue slid into her mouth. His movements, so soft one moment, so fierce the next. She clenched her thighs, hoping to tame the ache between them yet it spread like wildfire through her veins. 

His mouth shifted from hers, kissing her jaw, her neck, nibbling, sucking, making her cry out. Her chest was heaving, her hands making fists against his shirt and hair. 

Then he was gone, devoid of her, stalking across the field toward the woods. It took her several moments to come to, to regulate her breathing, her mind to focus on the present moment. She picked up her skirts and ran towards him. 

“Jon-”

“I think you should get on your horse and go back to the house, my lady.”

“Jon, I-” she stretched out towards him yet he moved from her reach. She swallowed, tears threatening. “Did I do something wrong?”

He did not answer and walked into the woods. She climbed onto Silver and let her tears fall. 

‧͙⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓·*˚⁺‧͙

She refused dinner, citing a headache. Neither man tried to encourage her to take dinner and left her lying in the parlour, watching the sunset, her eyes dry and aching from the tears she had run out of. 

She opened them to see Drogo looming over her. He pulled her upright and put his face an inch from hers.

“I’m having guests over. You’re allowed to not be here but you  _ must  _ be awake when I come up. I’m sending Missandei up with you to ensure you stay awake. Unless you’d rather stay?”

She shook her head, biting down on a yawn and stumbled up the stairs, ahead of Missandei, who occasionally pressed a hand on the small of her back to help her. Fresh tears bloomed. 

Once in her bedroom, Daenerys fell onto her bed. Missandei sat on the chair next to it, taking out some sewing from her pocket. Daenerys yawned and tried to sit up yet Missandei pressed her back down.

“Sleep, my lady. I’ll wake you when I hear the master climbing the stairs.”

“No,” Daenerys protested despite her yawns. “That’s not fair, I’ll… I’ll stay awake. I have to. He said. I must do what my husband says. Always. Else I won’t go home, I won’t…” 

She had drifted off. 

‧͙⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓·*˚⁺‧͙

“My lady, my lady, awake.” 

Daenerys felt hands shaking her. She sat up, blearily eyed, and looking about to gain her bearings. Missandei’s face swam into view. She smiled at her, finding her hand and squeezing it. 

“Sometimes I think you’re my only friend.” She whispered. Missandei smiled softly, running a hand through her hair, smoothing it. 

“We are, my lady.”

“Please call me Daenerys. If we’re friends. Only when it’s us.”

“Of course. Daenerys.” She whispered her name, before exiting the room. Daenerys swung her legs over the side of the bed, hands folded in her lap, and looked up at her husband. He came stumbling in, smelling of whiskey. Daenerys inwardly sighed and began to unbutton her dress, as was his want. 

“Stand up.” He instructed. She did and went to the wall, her hands working over her clothing. It soon fell from her skin, cold night air replacing it. She closed her eyes and awaited his instructions. Instead of words, she heard fumbling, cursing. She opened one eye and then the other, her jaw-dropping slightly as he wrestled out of his clothes. 

He was muscular and seemed taller naked. He held himself proudly, almost daring her to look. She stared at the floor, unsure of what to do. 

“I need an heir.” He announced, slurring slightly.

“Oh.” She squeaked. She knew this day would come and Viserys had taken a spiteful delight in explain what a wife role was in the bedroom but she had hoped, childishly it would never come. She heard the bedsprings squeak, a candle being blown out and the sound of-

_ He’s snoring. He’s asleep.  _

Her heart leaped, a smile spread over her mouth. She had to fight not to make a sound. Instead, she crept to her side of the bed, pulled her nightgown from under her pillow, and over her head before climbing in beside her husband, wishing he was someone else. Someone, she’d be happy to make an heir with. 

_ He’s only a few steps away.  _

She pulled the covers over her head, as though they would protect her from her thoughts and drifted into a fitful sleep, full of warm kisses, petunias, dark trees and sunlight.


	6. Genesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my story and for each hit, kudos and comment! They mean the world to me and they keep me motivated ❤️
> 
> CW: domestic abuse - If you would like to skip over these two mentions, the opening sentence of the first one is:  
>  _He put his face an inch from hers, pointing his finger, his voice booming like thunder._
> 
> The ending sentence of the paragraph is:  
>  _Nausea rolled over in waves, rising her throat._
> 
> Stay safe and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

It was over breakfast once more that the men told her they were leaving. She near choked on her porridge as she heard the words, relief flooding through her like a waterfall. A fortnight alone. Had she ever heard anything more blissful? More inviting? Daenerys spooned more porridge into her mouth in an attempt to stopper her smile. From the expressions on Viserys and Drogos faces they neither knew nor cared; Viserys was puffed with pride at going on an important business enterprise, whilst Drogo treated it with nonchalance. 

Once the plates were cleared, Drogo gestured for Daenerys to follow him up the staircase as he exited. Before she could, however, Viserys caught her arm in a vice grip, dragging her closer to him. 

“Enjoying horse riding, are we?” He sneered. Previous questions of who, what, why bubbled in her brain. She shoved them aside as though they were dust. 

“We are.” 

“Careful not to fall.” His eyes glinted.

“I assure you, if I happen to fall, I shall get back on the horse.” She retorted, wrenching her arm from his grip. Surprise covered his features, his mouth popping open. Daenerys did not fight her smirk before she turned from him and continued to the stairs. 

She found her husband in their room, looking outside the window. When he turned, she bobbed in a clumsy curtsy and then blushed. He raised an eyebrow but did not comment. Daenerys closed the door and stood, hands clasped in from of herm shirting her weight from foot to foot. 

“Whilst I am away,” he began in a slow, steady voice with a knife edge to it. She swallowed as a shiver ran down the spine. “You are not to leave the house.”

“But my painti-”

“I have not given you permission to speak.” It would’ve been better if he’d roared it like a lion, for she was a mouse. Daenerys swallowed and looked at the floor. 

“You are not to leave the house whilst I am away. You are to remain _inside_ with your prayer book. Paint in the dining room for all I care.”

“Sir,” she began, not looking up. At the silence which greeted her word, she pressed on. “What about horse riding?”

“The mare will be ridden every day. Just not by you. You can walk about the house, as ladies do. Now leave so I may pack.” 

Daenerys headed for the outdoors, picking up a blanket and a book as she went. _He said I wasn’t to leave whilst he is away. He’s still here._

The thought danced within her like wildfire.She set the blanket upon the grass and lounged upon it, reading of the governess Jane Eyre and her romance with Edward Rochester. She could feel the burn of Drogo gaze upon her yet she ignored it, turning each page with delicacy and drinking in the words. She ignored the calls for lunch; form eh servants, from Viserys, from Drogo. Each angrily told her to “go starve” before slamming the door on her. Drogo came to her spot, snatched her book from her, and hauled her up and across the lawn to the door. She writhed, like a toddler forced to their parents' hand, but he was stronger than she and successfully pulled her inside. 

He put his face an inch from hers, pointing his finger, his voice booming like thunder. Fear wrapped its arms around her. Her chest tightened, her throat closed, her eyes stung. She trembled before him. This only encouraged him she bore down on her.

“I told you to stay inside.”

“Whilst you’re away. You’re not away yet.” 

His hand hit her face before she even saw it. Her neck swung to the side, a crack resounding in the air. Her face stung still she felt light. Like a cloud caught in a breeze. Through the haze she felt him grasp her, pull her to the room, force her into a seat. The metal of the cutlery was cold beneath her hands as she cut her cold turkey and drew it to her mouth. She tasted nothing. Her forehead ached, a high soft ringing was in her ear. Nausea rolled over in waves, rising her throat. 

She lay on the sofa afterward, ignoring everyone and everything. Her head spun. No matte rho much water she consumed, her mouth remained dry. She heard the men leave, heard their carriage roll away but stayed on the sofa. She could see the field through the large windows, see the men at work. She did not know how long she lay but it felt like an eternity.

Jon crossed the field, making her heart jump, her stomach spin. It seemed his eyes flicked towards her and lingered. She longed to shout his name, to have him come to her, to kiss his lips again and get lost together. 

He was gone before she could blink. 

Daenerys stood, shaking her head out of blurriness. She headed for the cellar. Missandei met her on the staircase. Daenerys took her hand in her own and pulled her down with her. The cellar was cold so the pair huddled together for warmth. Daenerys felt tears prick at her eyes and blinked them away. She would only sport smiles for the following days. The pair took eh twists and turns of the dark damp corridors until they reached the wine cellar. 

It was long and tall; every wall filled with shelves of wine and a ladder in the corner so one could climb for the alcohol. Daenerys lit the candles about the room with the matches by the door. Missandei hung back by the doorway. 

“My lady-”

“Daenerys.”

“Daenerys. Should we be here?”

“I was told to stay inside. This is inside is it not?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Then we have nothing to fear.”

Daenerys plucked the bottle closest to her. It was filled with dark liquid. She lacked the corkscrew from a shelf and unsaid the bottle. Holding it between her legs and heaving, her face turning red with the effort of something she was not accustomed to. When the cork came free, she smiled and toasted Missandei before bringing the bottle to her lips and drinking the red liquid.

It burned her throat, sweet yet sour. She drank on, pausing only to breathe until eh bottle was empty. She let it clatter to the floor, turning to her friend and grinning like a cat.

“Now… which one next?”

‧͙⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓·*˚⁺‧͙

Daenerys cringed to Missandei, who was half-dragging her up the stairs to her bedchamber. There seemed to be double the number of stairs and the walls were swinging. She could not stop giggling and talking. 

“I think I shall paint a tiger next, they so beautiful and said to be willpower, courage, and personal strength which I need a lot, do you agree? I think so. I’m a bad wife and sister but I’m trying but I don’t want to try also why can’t they be nicer? They should be nicer. What do you think?” 

“I think you need to sleep.”

They were at her bedchamber now. Missandei helped her undress and into her nightgown, finally depositing her upon the bed. Daenerys tried to hold her hand throughout, to convince her to stay but Missandei let her alone in the darkness. She gazed into it, seeing nothing. Loneliness crushed her like a bolder. 

She stood, swaying, and went to her window, looking outside. To her delight, she saw Jon traipsing across the hallway. With clumsy haste, she pushed the window open and stuck her hand out. 

_My hand is outside._

She giggled and stuck her head and neck out also, her hands curved around the windowsill. Her giggle turned to laughter. 

“Hey, Jon, JON. I’m outside! Look!” She waved her hand at him, laughing all the while.

“Get back!”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m lonely. Jon, please come up here. Please.” She stuck herself further out as though physical proximity to him would help her cause. She saw his eyes widen, heard the panic in his voice;

“Get back inside!” 

She pouted at his words, her eyes pricking. He seems to take pity on her for he softened.

“I’ll come up.” 

She smiled and swung back inside, moving a tad too quickly for she stumbled and fell on to her bed. An idea came to her and she squealed with joy at it. She began to pull her clothes off her body, getting her nightgown caught in her hair as she did. She yanked at it impatiently, listening for footsteps. It fell to the floor and she kicked it aside, pulling her underwear off with it. 

The door swung open. She had a glimpse of Jon’s shocked face before she pressed her mouth to his, her fingers closing around the front of his shirt. She pulled him in, kicking in the door shut behind them. 

“Jon, please.” She whispered against his unresponsive lips. “Take me.” 

Her body sang as she felt him kiss her back, his hands curling around her waist. 

_Finally. I’ll get to see what everybody talks of. What brought wars and love and death and power. I’ll discover this with him._

Happiness bloomed in her like a flower in the first days of spring. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my story! Please feel free to leave me a comment or a give a quick kudos. They mean so much to me and I really appreciate them ❤️
> 
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